


Sure of You

by lilinas



Series: Sebastian's Bitch [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, But really this is way not kinky, Dom Sebastian, Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Relationship Negotiation, Safewords, Some people might think that so I'm tagging it, Sub Kurt, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilinas/pseuds/lilinas
Summary: Kurt and Sebastian have been in a 24/7 dynamic since the night they met, every aspect of their relationship defined by a piece of paper hidden away in a desk drawer. When that's all swept away, Kurt has to find a way to integrate the two sides of himself or risk losing Sebastian forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay that's a terrible summary, but this is the Bitch 'verse drop-the-dynamic fic I've been promising forever. I want to reiterate here the warning that there is an OC character death in this story, because that's not something you'd usually expect from me. And waaaaay less smut than in my usual work, especially in this 'verse. It's something new, but something our boys need. :) I hope you enjoy it!

They didn’t even have a dog.

In fact, Kurt knew Sebastian had never owned a dog. He was allergic. The Smythe household pets had been limited to the dander-free variety. Fish, turtles, an iguana once. No dogs.

So how the fuck, Kurt asked himself for the twentieth time that morning, did Sebastian have any idea that retractable dog leashes even existed?

More to the point, how the fuck had Kurt ended up attached to one by the balls, spooling it out and back in as he wrestled with his bucket and mop?

The answer to that wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist from behind and pulled him back into a tight embrace. Sebastian was wearing sweatpants but no shirt, and the unexpected press of warm flesh against his back made Kurt gasp. Warm flesh and hard metal. Ever since the Night of Two Orgasms, Sebastian had taken to wearing the key to Kurt’s cock cage on a chain around his neck. Just to remind Kurt how close – and yet how far – freedom was. And who controlled it. As if Kurt needed reminding. His hand clenched reflexively around the mop handle and his dick swelled against the too-tight bars of its cage.

“Ask me how much I love corporate plumbing emergencies,” Sebastian whispered against Kurt’s ear.

“Do I really have to?” Kurt asked.

“Let’s just say, if you ask me, I’ll keep doing this.” Sebastian dragged a thumb over each of Kurt’s nipples, teasing them gently to hard points.

“How much do you love corporate plumbing emergencies?” Kurt’s voice was breathy with arousal that he didn’t bother to try to hide. They both knew where this was going.

“When they keep you home with me on a Wednesday, I fucking adore them,” Sebastian said. His breath tickled Kurt’s ear and made him shiver, or maybe that was the fingers plucking at his nipples. “Spring break was boring as fuck before the toilets exploded at your studio. If there’s a god of toilets, he’s definitely on my side.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?”

One of Sebastian’s hands slid down to cup Kurt’s caged cock. “This thinks that’s a good thing.” He petted the flesh that bulged through the bars, and in response Kurt’s cock redoubled its efforts to break free.

Kurt moaned and let his head fall back on Sebastian’s shoulder. “ _That_ thinks anything you do or say is a good thing.”

“Which is why it’s awesome to be me. God, it’s still trying to get hard,” Sebastian marveled. “I admit I’m going to miss this when it finally figures out it’s not going anywhere.”

Kurt’s belly clenched. He’d never told Sebastian how much it turned him on to have his dick objectified like that; he could barely admit it to himself. But of course, like everything else, Sebastian just seemed to know.

Warm fingers reached lower and rubbed Kurt’s balls and Kurt practically growled at the sensation. The leash didn’t hurt, exactly. Its pull was constant but barely noticeable, a gentle pressure that built up over time to create an ache with no source, more like the memory of pain than pain itself. But the massage felt like heaven and Kurt abandoned restraint and reached back with the hand that wasn’t holding the mop, to wrap his own fingers around Sebastian’s neck and keep him close.

Sebastian’s laugh set Kurt’s body twisting with another shiver. “Such a needy bitch.  And it’s about time. I’ve been working my ass off getting you back to proper submissive desperation. All that fucking and teasing and torture – I’m exhausted.”

 _You should have thought of that before you let me come twice in one night_ , Kurt thought, but most definitely didn’t say, because he knew Sebastian too well and while permanent orgasm denial was a powerful fantasy, Kurt hadn’t quite decided he wanted it to be his reality. “Don’t pretend you haven’t loved every minute,” he said instead.

“Don’t pretend _you_ haven’t loved every minute,” Sebastian countered. He nibbled at Kurt’s neck, the exact spot that made Kurt’s knees weak and his cock throb and true to his promise he kept teasing Kurt’s nipples with one hand while the other moved to toy with the end of the cock cage, where the urethral plug was screwed in tight.

“Oh no,” Kurt murmured.

“Oh yes,” Sebastian said, which was what Kurt had really meant anyhow. He unscrewed the plug slowly, giving Kurt plenty of time to anticipate what was coming next.

The plug was ribbed, which didn’t make a difference when it was seated in Kurt’s dick, but when Sebastian slid it out, dragging it deliberately against the rim of Kurt’s slit, every tiny bump made Kurt’s breath hitch in one tight almost-sob after another.

Sebastian laughed again, so low and provocative that it would have made Kurt dizzy if the room wasn’t already spinning around him. The plug slid in and out, a slow tickling tease that was equal parts maddening and magnificent. In the almost three months since the night of the birthday orgasms, Sebastian had barely touched Kurt’s dick. He’d never freed it. Every time he'd removed the plug for Kurt to relieve himself, it had been quick and sharp, clinical, matter-of-fact. Now, after weeks of nothing, the tender, intimate slide into his urethra overwhelmed Kurt. He wanted to beg Sebastian to stop and to keep going forever. His cock streamed – he could feel the slick precome lubricate the metal – and a familiar sensation thickened in his belly: the bloom of backed-up desire magnified by the frustration of the hundreds of orgasms that had been born and nurtured and then stifled in an agony of denial since that night of Sebastian’s birthday. The mop fell from Kurt’s hand and smacked the floor with a clatter but he barely heard it. His suddenly free hand joined the other around Sebastian’s neck, holding on for dear life.

“I am never going to get tired of doing this,” Sebastian said.

“Please . . .”

“Please what, bitch? Tell me what you want. Beg me for it.”

With Sebastian’s lips hot on his neck and Sebastian’s hands devastating his body, higher brain function wasn’t something Kurt could access, but there was only one thing he was allowed to want, so the words came instinctively. “Please fuck me. Oh, god that feels so good. Please. I want . . .”

“You want my cock?” Sebastian prompted. He thrust against Kurt’s ass and Kurt could feel through the soft cotton sweats Sebastian’s dick, hard and ready.

“Yes,” Kurt breathed.

“Then say it bitch.” Sebastian slid the plug as deep as it would go then fucked it in and out in quick, sharp thrusts that stole the breath from Kurt’s lungs.

“I want your cock . . .” he gasped. “Oh, fuck, please . . .”

“I do love hearing you beg,” Sebastian said. He seated the plug and began to screw it back into its mounting. “But I think you’ve had enough fucking for one day.”

“What?” It was more protest than he was usually allowed, but Kurt didn’t have the force of will to stop it. "But you haven't -"

“I fucked your dick.”

“That’s not the same,” Kurt protested.

“If it’s not enough for you then maybe you need a few more months of zero contact.” It wasn’t a threat. Sebastian didn’t make threats. Kurt knew a promise when he heard one.

“Sebastian . . .” Kurt whined. He let himself whine. He didn’t have the strength to stop it.

“But since you’re so desperate for something in your ass, I’ll go get the vibrator for you, how about that?” Sebastian pinched Kurt’s nipples hard, making him moan. “And clamps for these. The ones with bells, so I have something nice to listen to when the vibe gets you humping the air.”

“No, please,” Kurt spun around in Sebastian’s arms so he could plead with his eyes as well as his words. It wasn’t allowed, of course. He was specifically never allowed to tell Sebastian _no_ or ask for mercy. But he hated the damn vibe and he needed to be fucked and okay yes, maybe all of Sebastian’s hard work hadn’t gotten him all the way back to proper submissive desperation quite yet.

Sebastian smirked at Kurt, and those damn green eyes sparkled with a dangerous gleam. “Excuse me, was that you telling me no?”

The only thing to do now was beg for the vibe, which might, _might_ , get him out of a punishment. But Kurt was physically incapable of shaping the words. He hated that vibrator. Truly. Not in a sexy, _I hate that I love this_ way. He hated it. He wouldn’t beg for it. Personal line.

“I’m sorry?” he tried instead.

“Oh, you’re going to be,” Sebastian promised. “Now I suggest you clean up your mess while I go get the vibe – and whatever else I decide to punish you with.”

His mess. As Sebastian grinned and stepped away Kurt looked down, past his swollen, trapped cock, to the floor. Since they’d started using the plug Kurt had almost forgotten the lick up his own fluids rule. These days there weren’t any fluids. There hadn’t been any for three solid months.

Kurt was still staring at the little puddles of precome, and Sebastian was halfway to the bedroom, when the phone on their coffee table buzzed a silent ring. Sebastian nodded pointedly at the floor as he passed Kurt to pick it up.

Kurt slowly lowered himself down – the leash pulled his balls up and back – and began to lick.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” Sebastian headed back to the bedroom again, sounding so normal, not a trace of the heat of _I’m going to punish you_ left in his voice.

“What? No, Kurt’s here. There was some bathroom issue at his studio and he had to . . .”

The bedroom door closed, cutting off the voice.

Kurt lifted his head. The mop was there on the floor where it had fallen. The floor needed to be finished. Sebastian would never know if he . . .

He sighed and lowered his head again. “I hate that I love this,” he grumbled to the floor before he stuck out his tongue again.

He cleaned up his mess. He mopped the rest of the floor, moving against the pull of the leash. Sebastian had mounted a wire bracket on the wall for the handle part, high up, with the line threaded through one of the wire squares. It was long enough that Kurt could go anywhere in the apartment without reaching the end. The only thing that could pull him up short was Sebastian’s thumb on the lock button.

He mopped slowly, focusing on the subtle ache in his balls and the denser pain of his dick, still fighting the cage. He thought about how long it had been since he’d been free and hard, how long it might be. He tried to conjure up some of that submissive fog which was the only thing that could make the vibe remotely bearable. He was a toy. Just a toy for Sebastian’s enjoyment. He was . . .

The click of the bedroom door startled him out of his thoughts and he turned, ready to drop to his knees. But Sebastian didn’t stop to notice him. Without a glance at Kurt, he crossed the room in long strides, grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water. He drained it and leaned over the sink with his back to Kurt, breathing hard.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian spun around and his face radiated shock, like he’d forgotten Kurt was even there. “Oh fuck,” he breathed, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes like he wanted to wipe away Kurt’s image.

“What’s going on?”

Sebastian lowered his hands and his eyes were full of . . . something, something Kurt hadn’t seen before. Something very much not good. “Fuck, I’m sorry . . .” Sebastian shook his head.

Fear clenched at Kurt’s heart.

“I can’t . . .” Sebastian moved closer, but not close enough, not close enough to touch and Kurt very much needed to touch him. “I . . . I’m so sorry Kurt . . .”

_Kurt?_

"Polyester . . . I'm so . . . polyester."

The safeword. It was – not so much like being hit in the face with cold water as having cold water injected into his brain, to trickle icy reality along random pathways, leaving him half sharply aware, half still submissively awaiting the vibe.

“Sebastian,” he said again, and he could hear the uncertainty he felt in his voice.

Sebastian came closer, close enough, finally, close enough to touch but before Kurt could reach out to him he pulled the chain with the key over his head and held it out to Kurt. He looked terrified and angry at the same time and his chest heaved with his breath. He was trembling, Kurt could see, and suddenly Kurt's chest was heaving too as he tried to breathe.

“I can’t be responsible . . ." Sebastian mumbled as the key hung between them, rotating on the end of the chain. "I’m sorry. I . . .”

Kurt’s brain was spinning like the tiny key, searching for a way to bring back _Sebastian_ , but before he could find one Sebastian grabbed his hand and pressed the chain into it. “I’m sorry,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, then he _walked away_ , back toward the bedroom.

“Sebastian!” Kurt said again, sharp and loud this time like a command.

Sebastian stopped and turned around; his eyes were full of tears. “My dad’s dead,” he said, his voice high and light as a child's. Then he was gone. The bedroom door shut with a slam that echoed in the silence.

Kurt stared after him, then down at his hand, at the key to the cage that imprisoned the cock he hadn’t touched with his own hands in almost two years. Then he finally finished that fall to his knees as the room began to spin around him again, this time for all the wrong reasons.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez! This was like writing Assent all over again. All that internal emotion . . . I just hope you all like it. And thanks for reading!

Kurt breathed.

He wasn’t new at this. He was a grown man. He’d already been an experienced submissive when he met Sebastian. He’d had scenes go bad before and he knew what to expect. No, they hadn’t been two-year-long, 24/7 scenes with someone he’d come to trust with his life, but he’d had doms freak and leave him to deal with his own fallout. He knew what to do.

He breathed.

He pressed his hands into the floor to ground himself and waited out the initial panic and the cacophony of impulses trying to push him this way and that. They circled like subconscious sharks, one after another rising to the surface, goading him. To kick down the bedroom door and scream at Sebastian for dropping him like this. To curl up in a ball and sob until he ran dry. To rip the cage off and take back his dick, his pleasure, everything he’d worked so hard so long to give up.

But Kurt knew. So he breathed and waited for the sharks to give up and turn on each other. They put up a good fight, spreading beyond the moment at hand and flinging memories at him in a jumble of his past that mashed up high school bullies, crappy wanna-be doms, appalled vanilla boyfriends . . . just your average everyday collage of personal trauma. But Kurt knew if you don’t feed your neuroses they’ll eventually give up and go back to being stuffed down in your subconscious where they belong. And slowly order came back. The noise in his head faded and the visions dissipated, until only one was left. The image of his own dad, pale and still in a hospital bed, and Kurt’s seventeen-year-old self clutching a limp hand and searching for something to pray to. And then Burt’s rough fingers twitching, eyes opening and lips trying to smile and . . .

Oh god. Sebastian.

“Fuck!” he said aloud, and pushed himself up to his feet. Sebastian’s dad was dead. Sebastian needed him.  He was alone in the bedroom coping with the unimaginable while Kurt lay on the floor wallowing over a little sub drop. Kurt wasn’t sure exactly what he and Sebastian were to each other, but they’d shared two years of an intimacy more intense than Kurt had known with anyone else, ever. At the very least they were friends. And Kurt had been there. He knew how much Sebastian would need a friend. Time to get over himself and go deal.

He managed three steps toward the bedroom before he noticed the tugging at his balls. He turned without thinking, to see what was impeding him.

For a second, it didn’t make sense. His turn had wrapped a nylon line around his thigh and his eyes followed it out and up, across the room to the bracket on the wall that held the handle. Of a dog leash. And of course he knew he’d been in the middle of a scene, of course he knew he was Sebastian’s submissive, but without the protection of desire and subspace and Sebastian, Kurt suddenly saw himself from the outside, the way someone coming in off the street, someone _normal_ , might see him.

It was like being hit with a spotlight out of total darkness. Like the lights coming on in a carnival fun house, illuminating all the inner workings and making you feel stupid for having been taken in by the illusion. He was suddenly aware of the street noise outside his window. Horns honked as cars battled through the streets, sirens blared, construction workers drove jackhammers into pavement, Sebastian’s dad was dead. And here Kurt stood, naked. Tethered by a testicle cuff to a _dog leash,_ a metal cage around his cock, inside his cock, and his tongue still dry from licking the floor. He saw himself the way any of those so-normal passers-by would. He knew what they would say if they could stretch up the building and peek in. _Ridiculous. Perverted. Pathetic._

Kurt shook his head hard. “Bite me,” he told those judgmental assholes. He was Kurt Hummel. He’d had a lifetime of people calling him names and he wasn’t going to do it to himself, no matter how crazy the circumstances. He’d already wrestled with those demons and put them to rest a long time ago. Yes, okay, there were still some things he wasn’t ready to stare full in the face, but he wouldn’t apologize for taking his pleasure the way it felt best. He wouldn’t apologize for the things he and Sebastian did together. _Together_. Nobody controlled Kurt but Kurt.

And just to show them, he reached down and unclipped the leash from the cuff. Like it was perfectly normal to take himself out of bondage. Something he did every day. Move along folks. Nothing to see here.

He hummed casually, to cover the sound of the nylon snicking back into the leash handle, as he headed to the bedroom.

He got as far as the door when that vision of himself pulled him up short again. But this time, thank god, it wasn’t mocking strangers’ voices he heard but Sebastian’s, as he pressed the key into Kurt’s hand. _I can’t be responsible . . ._

Kurt groaned silently. It was hard enough dealing with his own drop without having to worry about Sebastian’s as well. But he owed that to Sebastian. They did this together, he reminded himself. And if he walked in naked, still caged, Sebastian wouldn’t see it as Kurt being in a hurry to comfort him. He would think that Kurt was still looking to him to make the choices, and Kurt was man enough to admit that he wouldn’t be completely wrong about that.

So Kurt detoured to the tiny second bedroom that they used as an office. He closed the door, not for privacy so much as to make a statement to himself. He was alone in this. His choices were his own, but he had to make them. Sebastian, being Sebastian, would take responsibility for anything Kurt didn’t. Even now. It was part of his DNA. But Kurt had been where Sebastian was, almost, and he knew the last thing Sebastian needed was to have to take care of him.

He tilted his head and took a good look at his caged dick.

It had to come off. He knew it did. His cage was more than a sex toy – it was a symbol. Kurt hated that kind of woo-woo crap, but in this case it was true. He had a collar that he loved, but he didn’t wear it every day, not even every time they played. It was an accessory compared to the cage. The cage was his collar. Sebastian's control of Kurt's dick was fundamental to their dynamic. The cage was like the flag flying over Buckingham palace. _The master is in residence._ But at the moment the master was very much not.

He rubbed the tiny key between his thumb and fingers. Sebastian hadn’t told him to take it off. He’d given that choice to Kurt. Kurt could choose to keep it on. Keep the key. Plenty of subs caged themselves, when they didn’t have a keyholder. Kurt could decide to wear the cage. For himself.

Except he didn’t actually believe any of that. Not even a tiny bit. Their dynamic had been too intense for too long. If he left the cage on, they both would know he was only holding space for Sebastian to come back and take over again. It would be a silent reminder of Kurt’s need and the duty Sebastian was abandoning. That’s how Sebastian would see it anyway; he was too conscientious for his own good sometimes. But he’d be right. Kurt’s need and Sebastian’s control were inextricably linked in a coexistence that was as involuntary as breathing. There was only one way to give Sebastian the freedom he needed right now.

It _sucked_ , it sucked so much because Kurt had just started to get back to the place where it all worked and the bad was good and the pain pleasure . . . and he wasn’t going to think about that because that wasn’t what either of them needed now. They’d come back from his orgasms, they could come back from this.

Kurt breathed.

Honestly, he just needed to get over himself. Sebastian’s father was dead. That was a million times more unfair than Kurt having to let go of three months of submissive mojo. Sebastian had given Kurt more than he could ever repay. The least Kurt could do was take off the damn cage.

So he did. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he slipped the key in the lock, snapped it open, and pulled the cage, plug and all, off his dick. The testicle cuff presented a problem – Sebastian hadn’t given him the hex key to unlock it – but he remembered the set of Allen wrenches in the desk drawer and soon was free of it. His balls were as deflated as if they’d been iced, so the cage ring slipped off easily once the cuff was out of the way, and then Kurt was alone with a free cock, something that hadn’t happened in the entire two years he’d belonged to Sebastian.

Kurt wasn’t going to think about that right now. Like he wasn’t going to think about the fact that he could wrap his hand around it, just because he wanted to, hold his own dick for the first time in years like it wasn’t a violation of every rule their relationship was based on. No. Safeword or not, this was Kurt’s line in the sand. Sebastian didn’t need to know so Sebastian couldn’t obsess about it. Kurt wasn’t touching. No matter how tempting it might be.

Fortunately, most of Kurt’s wardrobe lived in this room, and a quick rummage through the dresser turned up a pair of sweat pants and a faded Cleveland Browns t-shirt he must have stolen from Finn at some point. He practically threw the clothes on, and didn’t let himself think about how strange it felt to have soft flesh hanging loose between his legs. He’d already left Sebastian alone too long. He hurried back to the bedroom and tapped on the door, but didn’t wait to be invited in.

Sebastian sat on the side of the bed, his back ramrod straight, clutching a pillow to his chest and staring at the wall. He didn’t move at first, and when he did it was with a jerky twist, like he had to fight some force holding him in place just to look at Kurt. His expression was blank, his eyes red but dry. For a moment he looked puzzled, but then his eyes widened.

“Kurt. Oh God, I’m –”

“Don’t apologize again,” Kurt said, more forcefully than he needed to, to hide the twist in his gut when Sebastian said his name.

“But I just –”

“Sebastian!” This time the command was intentional. And effective. Sebastian’s mouth snapped shut.

“I’m a grown up,” Kurt went on. “I can take care of myself.”

“I left you alone.”

“There aren’t any rules for this. It’s not something . . . Look, I’ll be okay, as long as you stop acting like I shouldn’t be.”

It was the wrong thing to say, but it was true. Kurt’s grip on _okay_ was tenuous. He didn’t need Sebastian encouraging him to fall apart.

Sebastian didn’t respond. He wrapped his arms tighter around his pillow and turned back to the wall.

Kurt wanted to go to him. It should have been so easy, after everything they’d been to each other, to walk over and put his arms around Sebastian, tell him how sorry he was, but he seemed so remote, there on the bed, and fuck, physical displays had never been Kurt’s strong suit. It wasn’t surprising that his most successful relationship was one in which every physical interaction was dictated in detail by a signed contract.

He stayed by the door, but made sure his voice softened. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Sebastian looked down at the pillow. “Car accident. This morning. They think it was a drunk driver.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes, Kurt. Believe it or not, some people are stupid and irresponsible even at the crack of dawn.”

It really shouldn’t make his insides ache. Sebastian said his name all the time. He’d just said it this morning, before, to his mom. _Kurt’s here. There was a bathroom issue . . .”_

Sebastian glanced at him and mistook his expression. “Oh fuck. I didn’t mean . . . I’m s . . .”

Kurt shot up an eyebrow and Sebastian’s mouth twisted in a wry, tired kind of smile. “Right. Not sorry. No.” The smile went away but at least he kept looking at Kurt, and the tension in his body seemed to soften, each word taking away a little bit of the iron. “I guess the guy was coming home from a party. My dad was taking my sister out for an early breakfast before . . .”

“Oh my god,” Kurt said.

“No, no she’s okay. Well, she broke her arm but my mom said they’re fixing it. She doesn't even need surgery.”

Kurt breathed out his relief. “Your mom wasn’t with them?”

Sebastian shook his head.

For a long moment silence hung between them. Kurt hovered in the doorway, part of him wanting to go to Sebastian but most of him waiting, as he’d always waited, for some sign from Sebastian. He told himself he was being stupid but there were rules he’d been conditioned to obey for two years, and it seemed his brain couldn’t forget them just because someone had said _polyester_.

“You need to go,” he said finally, more to break the silence than anything.

Sebastian just nodded.

“Do you . . . want me to go online and see about a flight? You can probably get one tonight. I think you have time.”

That brought Sebastian’s attention back to him. “Would you?”

“I’ll book an open return."

More silence. “Do you need to call your department?” Kurt prompted.

Sebastian didn’t reach for his phone. “It’s spring break.”

“Right, but I don’t think you’ll be back by Monday. The funeral . . .”

Sebastian flinched at the word. “I’ll call Agnes once I get to Ohio. It’ll be okay.”

Kurt could hear the edge in Sebastian’s voice and realized he was doing what Sebastian had unwittingly done to him – messing with his coping mechanism and making it harder for him. “I’ll get on that reservation, then.” He turned to go.

“Kurt.”

Kurt suppressed a shudder and turned back. Sebastian was looking at him again, his lips pressed together like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. He took a deep breath. “Would you come with me?”

Kurt stared at him. “Come . . . to Ohio?”

Sebastian’s expression shut down again and he turned back to the wall. “Forget it. It’s a stupid idea.”

Kurt gritted his teeth and swallowed his frustration. Sebastian had lost his father. Kurt could handle a little emotional whiplash. And honestly, it was such a relief to have Sebastian _ask_ him for something, finally, that he would have agreed to practically anything. “You just surprised me, that’s all. Of course I’ll come. I want to.”

“I’ll be okay,” Sebastian told the wall.

“Don’t be an idiot. We’re . . . together. If you need me, I want to be there for you.” It sounded fumbly and halfhearted to Kurt’s ears but Sebastian looked at him like he’d thrown out a lifeline.

“Can you take the time? The studio . . .?”

Kurt smiled. “God of toilets, remember? He’s good for something I guess. And honestly, it’s no problem anyhow. I never take time off. They’ll understand. If you want me to be there, I will.”

“I do.” It came out in a rush, like Sebastian had to get the words out before he lost his nerve. 

“Okay," Kurt said with another smile. "So why don’t you call Agnes while I get on those tickets.”

“I will.” Sebastian reached for his phone but he simply held it, staring down at the black screen.

“Okay,” Kurt said again, and he turned and left the room.

There was no sound behind him, no Sebastian calling his department head, but Kurt had done all he could. The apartment felt full of unexpressed emotion – it was suddenly stifling him – so he grabbed his own phone from the kitchen counter and slipped out the front door, turning the handle silently so Sebastian wouldn’t think he was being abandoned. Kurt wasn’t going anywhere; he just needed out. Just for a minute. He closed the door behind him and sat down right there in the corridor, thumbing his phone on as he settled, choosing the number without thinking.

“Hey kid!”

His dad’s voice flipped a switch, and Kurt’s eyes filled with tears. “Hey dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

Kurt smiled despite the tears. His dad always knew. “Nothing. I mean, I’m okay.”

“Kurt . . .”

“It’s Sebastian. His dad was in an accident. He . . . he didn’t make it, Dad. He's dead.”

“Oh crap Kurt. I’m sorry. Tell him I’m so sorry.”

“I will, dad. And . . . well I’m coming with him, for the funeral. So I’ll probably be able to come see you guys too. You know. After.”

“Sure. You know we’ll be here for you. Are you okay buddy? You don’t sound okay.”

Kurt wiped at the tears that were starting to spill down his cheeks. “I am. Really. It’s just . . . a lot you know?”

“I do know. You guys’ll get through it together though.”

Kurt sighed. He wished he was as certain. “I guess. I should go though. I have to book a flight and pack and . . . well Sebastian’s pretty useless at the moment. Understandably.”

“I’m glad he has you there for him. Call me when you get to Ohio.”

“I will.”

“And Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kurt couldn't hold back a sob. Burt tactfully didn’t seem to hear.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, kid. I'll see you soon.”

Kurt put his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and let himself cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry this took so long. For those of you not keeping up on tumblr, I live three blocks from two different evacuation zones in the recent Southern California fires. So my plans for writing this month were derailed by watching the news, packing the car, and housing friends who had been evacuated. All is well now, thank goodness.
> 
> Also, this story will be having a brief hiatus during the month of December, as I'll be doing not one but two Advent fics every day. I'm doing my usual Expectation Fails Klaine Advent, and also doing a kinky Advent in this 'verse that is completely unconnected to this story, narratively I mean. So there will be fun kinky stuff to keep you entertained (I hope!) in the interim and I'll be back on this in January. <3

Somewhere over Pennsylvania, Sebastian took his hand.

Kurt had just come back from the bathroom, where he’d had a minor panic attack when he sat down on the toilet and reached to position the cage – only to find himself with a fistful of warm flesh instead of hard steel. Some involuntary instinct made him jump to his feet just as his bladder released, and the result . . . the result was equal to any of Sebastian’s humiliating punishments. By dumb luck he didn’t dribble on any of his own clothing, but the door got a solid spray before Kurt managed to stop himself and sit down again.  He finished peeing while wiping frantically at the drips rolling down the plastic, then scrubbed door, floor and toilet seat with hot soapy paper towels. Cleaning was usually a calming and familiar act, but he kept imagining people lined up outside the door, impatient, wondering what the fuck was taking him so long.

In reality there was only one woman waiting, and she smiled at him as he passed her, but still, Kurt was not in a good place as he made his way back up the dark aisle to their seats. He was putting on a really good show. He’d been putting on a really good show all day, packing, arranging, because Kurt Hummel didn’t panic. Kurt Hummel was strong, and good in a crisis. He most definitely wasn’t one of those submissives who couldn’t function without a dominant to tell them what to do. Those were the words he kept repeating to himself and the face he presented to Sebastian. But inside he was spinning, rudderless. He’d barely had a moment to try to understand what had happened to him, to them, the moment Sebastian said _polyester_. And he wasn’t even sure that was a bad thing. He felt like if he gave in to the dark mass looming at the back of his brain he might get lost in it and never find his way back again.

So Kurt walked back to their row, where Sebastian reclined with his seat tilted back and his eyes closed, and sat down like everything was fine. But as he pulled his Vogue from the seat pocket Sebastian’s hand came down on top of his, turning it over so their fingers could intertwine in a warm caress that made Kurt’s heart flip-flop like a teenager touching for the first time. He told his heart to get a grip. He and Sebastian had united their bodies in every possible way and a few impossible ones they’d made up on the fly. There wasn’t a single reason Sebastian’s hand should summon butterflies.

Kurt looked up, but Sebastian still seemed asleep. The window beyond him was full of night. He opened his magazine one-handed and tightened his grip so that Sebastian wouldn’t let go.

Sebastian had been remote and silent all day. Any fantasies Kurt might have had of a grief-stricken Sebastian finding comfort in his arms remained just fantasies. Kurt wasn’t sure how he felt about that. As jarring as it might have been to have Sebastian – his dominant – crying on his shoulder, the alternative was objectively worse. In the face of Sebastian’s inertia, Kurt did what he usually did. He washed the breakfast dishes, wiped the counters, made all the necessary phone calls, packed both their bags. He even picked out Sebastian’s suit for his father’s funeral and while there was no way he would have trusted Sebastian to choose an appropriate shirt/tie/suit combination, safeword or no safeword, service was such an integral part of Kurt’s submission that he found himself constantly drifting back into his usual headspace, only to be jerked back to reality with a panicked start when his dick flopped against the cotton sweat pants. It was like living at the end of a yo-yo string, except no one was holding it; he was stuck in this random bouncing alone with no sense of direction.

Sebastian only unbent once, when Kurt came out of the spare room dressed for the plane. He’d swept his green eyes down Kurt’s form and his lips had tilted up into a thin smile.

“You’re meeting my family, not marching into battle,” he said in a tone that lacked any of the expected sarcastic bite.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him and picked up his suitcase. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell Sebastian that the armor was as much to protect himself from Sebastian as from his family.

But despite all that, Kurt hadn’t realized how deeply he’d craved Sebastian – his Sebastian – until their hands touched. He slipped the Vogue back into the seat pocket and closed his own eyes to concentrate on breathing and on that one point of contact between them. Two palms. Ten fingers. It felt tenuous as spider silk but strong as iron. A contradiction, like so much between them.

As they flew through the night Sebastian didn’t speak or move but his hand stayed firm in Kurt’s. He held on until the wheels touched down in Columbus. When they were taxiing toward the gate Sebastian opened his eyes and gave Kurt a tight smile as he let go to turn on his phone.

Fortunately for the butterflies that decided to have a hundred simultaneous nervous breakdowns in Kurt’s belly at that exact moment, Sebastian’s hand came back as soon as they cleared the airplane doors and could walk side-by-side. The fact that they were in Ohio now, heart of Midwestern sensibilities, made it seem a larger gesture than it would have in New York. Kurt didn’t even try not to feel ridiculously grateful.

Sebastian walked slowly, which surprised Kurt. He’d imagined having to rush to keep up with Sebastian as he hurried to meet his family. Instead, Kurt had to slow his own pace to match Sebastian’s. But he wasn’t going to complain. He used the time to remind himself that, safeword or no, they were a team. They’d stood together through all the crazy intensity of the past two years and they’d shared an intimacy stronger and deeper than any Kurt had ever imagined in his wildest pre-Rumpelstiltskin fantasies. He trusted Sebastian with his life. Literally. He could certainly trust him to see them through this meeting.

They moved with the other passengers through the terminal and out of the secured area, where a crowd of people jostled, everyone trying to spot his or her loved ones. “Sebastian!” someone cried; Kurt’s hand was abandoned and Sebastian was running away from him. Kurt had just enough time to register a head of brown curls and a flash of white plaster before the woman disappeared in Sebastian’s embrace.

 _So much for solidarity,_ Kurt thought. He knew it was uncalled for but he couldn’t help it. He hung back as Sebastian buried his head in the young woman’s shoulder. He was crying; Kurt could tell from the way his body shook in her arm, only one arm because the other was broken and honestly, Kurt was the most selfish asshole in the world. It was Julia, Sebastian’s younger sister. And the tall, black-haired woman turning Kurt’s way was Sebastian’s mom. Kurt recognized them from pictures Sebastian kept in the apartment. Kurt hadn’t put up any pictures of his own family, mainly because the last thing he ever wanted was to look up from blowing Sebastian while getting his balls cropped to find his dad looking back at him. And the second to last thing he ever wanted was to have _that_ thought as Sebastian’s mother was coming toward him with outstretched arms.

He forced himself not to step back, but by some miracle she didn’t try to hug him. She took one of his hands in each of hers and drew him closer to the others, smiling.

She was what an older time would have called a handsome woman. Even with no obvious makeup and her black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, she looked imposing. Her dark eyes were shadowed but her smile was genuine. Except for her height, she didn’t resemble Sebastian at all. He took after his father, Kurt knew that, from the pictures. She gripped his hands like she was trying to communicate something vitally important through touch alone. But when she spoke she only said, “Kurt,” fervently, like an invocation.

“Mrs. Smythe,” Kurt said, summoning a smile of his own. It wasn’t as hard as he’d expected it to be. He suspected it would be easy to like Sebastian’s mom.

“Oh, Teresa, please.” She said it with a long A sound, Ter-ay-sa, which seemed very European and of course made Kurt like her more. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. And so grateful you came with him.”

Kurt didn’t know what to say to that. A few feet away Sebastian was still wrapped up in his sister. They were forehead to forehead now; Sebastian held her face in his hands and might have been whispering to her. Teresa gave Kurt’s hands a squeeze then let them go.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “This must be awkward for you. I can’t imagine how you must feel having to meet all of us for the first time in the middle of . . . this.” She waved a hand at her children. “I’m afraid this won’t be the last awkward moment you’ll have to endure. Everything’s a bit of a mess and we’re not exactly at our best right now.”

From some people it might have sounded affected. _So sorry our family tragedy keeps us from showing you the hospitality you deserve_. But Teresa sounded like she genuinely wished she could have given him an easier _entrée_ into the Smythe family. And at the same time like she knew he would understand why she couldn’t.

Kurt’s head sorted through the usual platitudes, _I’m so sorry, such a loss, terrible it had to happen this way,_ but since he’d been on the receiving end of enough of those to know how hollow they could sound, he rejected them quickly and instead let his smile widen. “Luckily, I survived four years as the only out gay kid in an Ohio high school,” he told her. “And it was hell, but I’m pretty sure it left me immune to awkward.”

Her smile told him he’d said the right thing. She had a beautiful smile. A mom smile. Trying to make him feel comfortable when her own world had been blown apart. “I’m sorry to say that’s probably going to come in very handy,” she said.

“It’s really nice to meet you too,” Kurt said, putting all the sincerity he could muster into it. “Sebastian’s told me –”

“Mom.” Sebastian had finally let go of his sister and now pulled his mother into an embrace. Kurt, in turn, was immediately enveloped by two arms, one soft, the other hard plaster.

Julia was still crying but she hugged him so fiercely that Kurt had no choice but to hug back. Fiercely but quickly, and when she pulled away Kurt had to take a step back to gain some space for himself. She was like Sebastian’s short, female twin. The sharp planes of Sebastian’s face, the long pointed nose, on a woman, surrounded by long loose curls, it was too much for Kurt to deal with after the day he’d had. And that was a terrible thing to think – of the four of them, Kurt’s day had objectively been the least awful – but after the airplane bathroom he was cutting himself some slack.

“My sister,” Sebastian said, appearing at her side and wrapping an arm around her like a knight protector.

“I assumed.”

Julia melted back into Sebastian’s embrace, and now Kurt could see how distant and dim her eyes were. She looked lost, and exhausted, and in pain, all of which she probably was, and Kurt couldn’t imagine where she’d found the energy to hug him as tightly as she had.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she said to Kurt in a fading voice.

“I didn’t really –”

“Car’s parked, finally.” And older, balding man with a generous paunch made his way through the dwindling crowd toward them. “And this must be the famous Kurt,” he said, looking Kurt up and down.

 _Famous_ Kurt?

“Uncle Marty!” Sebastian surrendered Julia to hug the man. Teresa Smythe moved smoothly in to fill the void, like a nesting mama bird taking her daughter under her arm.

Uncle Marty, it turned out, was Teresa’s brother-in-law and the night’s designated driver. He shook hands with Kurt and, like the others, thanked him for the amazing feat of following Sebastian to Ohio. Kurt suppressed a sigh. Honestly. Did they all think he had personally persuaded Sebastian to come home for his father’s funeral? It was a relief when they trooped to the baggage claim and Kurt could turn his back on the family tableau to look for their bags. He was feeling extra grateful that his wardrobe requirements meant he always had to check luggage.

By the time he’d snagged both their suitcases and the garment bag, Uncle Marty had dug up a luggage cart. Sebastian was huddled with his mom and sister, but when Uncle Marty took charge of the cart he appeared by Kurt’s side. He was holding hands with Julia, but his free hand captured Kurt’s. Kurt gave himself a silent but stern lecture, as they wound their way through the parking garage, about feeling too grateful for Sebastian’s touch. But he held on tight anyway, just in case Sebastian got any silly ideas about letting go. And he silently vowed his undying loyalty to Teresa when she slid into the front seat of the car, leaving Kurt to sit with Sebastian and Julia in the back.

They all fell silent once the car started to move, as if with the novelty of meeting Kurt over, no one had any energy for small talk. Uncle Marty tuned the radio on a station with soft classical music that settled in Kurt’s head and made his eyelids droop. He resisted the urge to lean into Sebastian. Sebastian was too much of a dominant. If he knew how fragile Kurt was feeling, he’d feel responsible and want to fix it. And that wasn’t what Sebastian needed right now. So Kurt kept himself upright, only touching Sebastian where their hands connected.

Julia, who didn’t need to worry about such things, let her head rest on her brother’s shoulder, and every so often she nuzzled into his neck and inhaled, breathing in his scent. It was deeply wrong and completely petty to be jealous of Sebastian’s sister, at a time like this, but Kurt couldn’t help it. He knew how strong those shoulders were; he’d clung to them when he couldn’t hold himself up and they’d never, ever failed him. Everything inside of Kurt had been so _wrong_ since Sebastian safeworded. He felt like his skin didn’t fit right anymore and he’d been trying to ignore it but speeding through the dark, surrounded by strangers, Kurt craved the comfort and support he knew he could find in Sebastian’s arms. He didn’t want to be the strong one right now. He didn’t want . . .

Sebastian turned his head toward Kurt and smiled, a tired smile, exhausted really, but the most natural one he’d managed since his phone had rung that morning. He leaned in until his forehead pressed to Kurt’s cheek, his nose in Kurt’s neck, and inhaled, just as Julia had, breathing Kurt in. And suddenly everything was fine.

When Sebastian lifted his head he mouthed a silent _“Thank you.”_ Kurt couldn’t imagine why. Maybe he felt left out being the only Smythe who hadn’t said it. But it lit something warm inside Kurt’s chest and when Sebastian straightened again and let his head fall back against the seat, Kurt went ahead and leaned. They could both just pretend that Kurt was offering support, not asking for it.

It wasn’t a long drive to Westerville. Just as Kurt was starting to relax into the darkness and the gentle motion of the car, Uncle Marty turned up a sloping graveled driveway. Sebastian nudged Julia and dropped Kurt’s hand to unlatch his seatbelt. Julia stretched sleepily then cursed when her cast bumped the car door. But Kurt barely noticed any of these things as he stared out the windshield at the house that stood at the apex of the horseshoe driveway.

It was huge. A red brick Georgian mansion that reminded Kurt of pictures he’d seen of the vacation “cottages” of Rockefellers and Astors. Hidden lights illuminated the carefully weathered brick, climbing ivy, white shutters and dormer attic windows. For a minute Kurt actually forgot everything – death, family, Sebastian’s remote grief, even his soft, loose dick – in the realization that he was going inside this gorgeous house. Staying inside it. The car came to a stop and everyone moved to unbuckle but Kurt just stared. It was like he was a kid again, with his dad, driving past one of Lima’s few ritzy mansions, wondering what it would feel like for _that_ to be his life.

Then one of the imposing double front doors opened and disgorged a women in a flowered dress and apron.

“Aunt Rose!” Sebastian called.

The woman hurried toward them and threw her arms around Sebastian. “Oh sweetie! I’m so sorry honey.”

Kurt realized he was the only one still sitting in the car. He climbed out and sidestepped yet another introduction by joining Uncle Marty, who already had the trunk open and was lifting out the suitcases. Kurt grabbed the garment bag and Sebastian’s backpack.

“Lead the way,” Kurt said, and Uncle Marty nodded and closed the trunk. They left the little family circle behind and headed for the house.

He was glad there was no one to see him when he crossed the threshold. He would rather have died than have had any of the Smythes witness his gaping astonishment as he stepped into the spacious foyer. Sebastian had grown up _here?_ This was the kind of money his family had? Just the entry made Kurt want to weep with joy. Wooden furniture gleamed, jewel-colored Persian rugs graced the hardwood floor, wide doors led to unknown spaces and a graceful staircase lit by a crystal chandelier curved upwards. It was a room that could have easily graced the cover of the fanciest interior design magazine. But despite the grandeur, it felt cozy as well. It was a welcoming room.

Voices coming from the driveway broke the spell and Kurt hurried after Uncle Marty, who was already halfway up the stairs. They climbed to an open landing dominated by a vase of white roses on a mahogany stand. A hallway stretched in both directions. Uncle Marty turned right, and Kurt followed. Three doors down Marty turned a handle and gestured Kurt inside.

“This was Sebastian’s room. I assume that’s where Teresa wants you boys.”

If Kurt had hoped to get a glimpse of teenage Sebastian via his room, he was disappointed. It was a run-of-the-mill guest room now, which made sense, since Sebastian hadn’t lived at home for years. The room was furnished to be comfortable, with a nod to the house’s Colonial style. The walls were papered in a dusky blue and buff stripe and a queen size four-poster bed dominated the space. The bedding picked up the buff color in the walls and the large bed still left room for a dresser, an armoire, and a door Kurt prayed led to a real closet.

Like a mind-reader, Uncle Marty pulled open the door to reveal an actual, if small, walk-in. “There’s plenty of room for everything,” he said, smiling as he put Kurt’s suitcase just inside the door. “But come down and eat first. Rose made lasagna. Lasagna is the standard Mancini response to any crisis.”

Kurt didn’t know who the Mancinis were. Marty’s smile was kind and sort of reminded Kurt of his dad, but the last thing Kurt wanted was more socializing. He could hear voices filtering up the staircase and the sound made his ears feel like they had to pop. There was too much pressure all around him. He hefted the garment bag up and laid it out on the bed. “I just want to get the suits out and hung up before the wrinkles set.”

“Oh right. Sure.” Marty reminded Kurt even more of Burt as he pretended to understand the importance of hanging the suits. “Well, when you’re done come on down to the kitchen then. It’s the door on the left. No, that’s if you’re going up the stairs. Right coming down. You go through the living room and the dining room . . . oh crap, this place is a maze. Just follow the smell of tomato sauce I guess. That’s probably a safer bet than my directions.”

Kurt couldn’t help laughing, and Marty looked very pleased with himself, like amusing Kurt had been his goal all along.

“Thanks,” Kurt said. “I won’t be long.” He fiddled with the garment bag, but only until he heard Uncle Marty’s tread down the stairs. Then he went to the door, gently closed it, and turned the lock. He sat right down on the floor there by the door, pillowed his head on his arms on his knees, and let his mind go blank.

It was instant bliss. It was almost orgasmic. The fact that he could go down so quickly, by himself, was testament to exactly how much anxiety Kurt had been trying to ignore all day. Now, alone and quiet, his tension fled; Kurt could have sworn he floated right up off the floor. All the unanswered questions that had been pelting his brain since _polyester_ , took their balls and went home, or wherever uncomfortable thoughts go when submissives find that silent absence only they know. Amazing what putting a locked door between himself and the rest of the world could accomplish. Blankness felt like the greatest gift Kurt had ever given himself, and based on his wardrobe alone that was a pretty high bar.

It was true that Kurt hated the appearance of weakness. He despised the stereotype of a submissive unable to take care of himself without a dominant in charge. If anyone else, even Sebastian, had suggested he give himself a break and wallow in a little subspace, he’d have told them in exacting detail how to go fuck themselves. But it had been a truly terrible day and, well, no one needed to know.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the floor. It didn’t matter. Sebastian would cover for him. Sebastian had spent every day of the past two years attuning himself to Kurt’s needs. Even in this crazy situation, Kurt knew he could count on him. He let himself float until lifting his head began to feel possible. And when he did, the first thing he saw was the bed. It looked warm and inviting and . . . Sebastian’s.

A question formed, crystal clear inside Kurt’s head. He’d assumed; they’d all assumed but – what if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt in his bed? It was crazy on the surface of course. They’d been together two years. Everyone in this house considered them boyfriends. But they weren’t. They were master and slave, since the night they’d met. But they weren’t that anymore either because _polyester._ They’d never talked. They’d never made any decisions about what they were outside of their dynamic. There were no _rules._ That was what all those intrusive thoughts had been throwing at him all day. Without the rules and the contract and the dynamic, Kurt for the first time in two years had no idea what Sebastian wanted. All day they’d been moving like automatons through the things that had to be done, and yes, Sebastian had held his hand and leaned into his support but that didn’t mean that Kurt could make assumptions. Kurt had been Sebastian’s 24/7 submissive for two years. Safeword or not, he could no more let himself rely on assumptions than he could take his dick in hand and stroke himself to orgasm. Theoretically both were possible. But Kurt Hummel wasn’t about to do either.

They were going to have to talk.

“Oh, fuck,” Kurt breathed aloud as he climbed up off the floor. It had been nice while it had lasted.

He unpacked their suits and hung them in the empty closet. He hung his jacket next to them. He sent a text to his dad – _Made it to Ohio. Wiped out. I’ll call you tomorrow_ – then unlocked the door and headed down to face the Smythe clan.

Uncle Marty hadn’t been kidding about the maze. Kurt wandered through several dark rooms full of furniture, a grand piano in one, in another a flat-screen television so big it would have made his dad weep real tears. Eventually he stumbled by sheer luck on a spacious, modern kitchen. But instead of the crowd he expected he found Sebastian and his mom alone, holding hands across the table in a built-in breakfast nook.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

Sebastian looked up then quickly away, but not fast enough to hide the fact that he’d been crying. Teresa’s eyes were red and wet as well but she stood and smiled at Kurt. “Martin and Rose headed back to Columbus. They’ll come back tomorrow. And Julia finally gave in to the painkillers.” She took her plate to the sink and rinsed it. “Help yourself to some lasagna. Rose makes the best lasagna of all of us.”

Sebastian wiped his face with a napkin but drying the tears couldn’t erase how nakedly unhappy he looked. Kurt tried to catch his eye, show some solidarity, maybe find a way to make it clear that he was here for Sebastian to hold onto if he needed, but Sebastian kept his eyes on his plate as he pushed his last bit of lasagna around with his fork.

“I’m not really hungry,” Kurt said. It was true. He never had an appetite when he was unsettled like this.

“I understand,” Teresa said as she cleared the table. “But you have to promise me you’ll come down and help yourself if you get hungry later.”

“Mom,” Sebastian admonished.

“It’s okay,” Kurt said. “I promise I will, if I need to.” And if he could manage to find the kitchen again.

Teresa nodded. “You see?” she asked Sebastian. “Some people appreciate my maternal meddling.”

“I appreciate,” Sebastian said. He summoned a thin smile for his mom before he went back to poking his food.

“Yes, well, it’s been a day. And Dr. Caldwell prescribed me a sedative that I feel like I’ve earned a few times over. If I don’t turn up by nine tomorrow, someone come and get me. I don’t want us to be late.” She patted Sebastian’s head and turned as if she planned to leave it at that, but Sebastian caught her arm and pulled her back, standing up to wrap her in a hug. When they parted she cupped one of his cheeks in her hand and kissed the other one, nodded at Kurt, then headed off through the dark interior of the house.

Kurt waited for Sebastian to do something, say something, but Sebastian just stared after his mother. After the moment they’d shared in the car Kurt had hoped Sebastian was opening up to him but now he seemed as blank as he’d been before.

“What’s tomorrow morning?” Kurt finally asked.

“Funeral home. We have to make the . . . arrangements.”

Kurt shuddered. “God, I hate that word. I was so little when my mom died, and I couldn’t understand all the euphemisms. It felt like no one was saying what they meant.”

“I need a drink,” Sebastian said. He moved at last, grabbing Kurt’s hand and pulling him up. “Come on.”

For a crazy second Kurt wondered if they were going out, but Sebastian led him through one dark room, across the foyer, and into another. When he flicked a wall switch soft lights came up over a mirrored bar back – it was a study, Kurt saw, wood paneled, masculine but cozy, with soft leather furniture and bookshelves and a large desk in the corner opposite the bar.

“I’d kill for a Scotch,” Sebastian said as he made for the bar. “My dad always has the best . . .”

He froze, mid-sentence, and Kurt knew from experience it was the present tense. It hurt so much to hear yourself say it, because it meant you’d forgotten, just for a second. He’d had those moment too, after his mom, so he sailed past Sebastian, behind the bar, and grabbed a likely bottle from the mirrored shelf.

“I know squat about Scotch but this one looks like the most unpronounceable, so it’s got to be the best, right?”

Sebastian unfroze enough to recognize the bottle Kurt held. “Laphroaig,” he said.

“Gesundheit.”

Sebastian actually laughed. It was thin and kind of pathetic, but it was there. “It’s not the best one he has . . . had . . . but it’s very good.”

Kurt followed Sebastian’s example and ignored the tense mistake. “Well that’s good, because the best would totally be wasted on me.” He snagged two cut-glass tumblers from a glass-fronted cabinet and poured the golden liquid. He didn’t add ice. He might not have known how to pronounce Laughing Frog or whatever that was – but he’d been living with Sebastian long enough to know that putting ice in a single malt was the beverage equivalent of stabbing a Scotsman right through the heart with his own sword.

Sebastian had wandered across the room, so Kurt brought both glasses to where he stood staring up at a large portrait on the wall. It was a picture of the Smythe family and it was exactly what Kurt would have expected. Four much-too-attractive, color-coordinated people posed on a log in rolling Ohio countryside. Of course the Smythes would be the type of family to hire a photographer and actually go out into nature – no prefab JC Penney backdrops for them. They all looked supremely happy. Teresa, younger but still imposing, Sebastian’s dad Alexander, looking much too much like the man standing beside Kurt, curly-haired moppet Sebastian (where had all those curls gone?) – even baby Julia in Teresa’s lap smiled like she’d never wanted anything more than to sit on a log and have her picture taken. Kurt liked it. He liked knowing that Sebastian’s childhood had been like this, these happy people surrounding him. And it hurt to know he’d never gotten to see them all together.

“Wow,” he said as he handed a glass to Sebastian. “White t-shirts and bare feet. That’s not at all cliché.”

Sebastian shrugged and sipped his Scotch. “It was the 90s. This was the height of artsy family portraiture.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Sebastian laughed again. Louder this time. More real. “I remember my dad telling my mom, and this is a direct quote, ‘In twenty years you’re going to be mortified we did this and I’m not going to let you take it down.’”

“And?”

“Oh, she was. That’s why it’s in here. It used to be over the fireplace in the living room. My dad finally relented, but he wouldn’t let her put it away. I think he secretly liked it all along.”

Kurt looked up at Alexander Smythe, surrounded by his family, looking about as proud as he’d ever seen a man look. “I think I would have liked your dad,” he said.

“I was such an idiot,” Sebastian said. “I should have . . .”

“What?”

Sebastian shook his head. Not like a _no_ , but like he was trying to banish a thought. “Nothing. How’s your Scotch?”

Kurt took a sip and coughed as it burned its way down his throat. “Awesome,” he choked hoarsely.

That got another laugh out of Sebastian, and a fondly exasperated look that was so familiar it hurt. “Sorry. So what’s worse? The Scotch or meeting my family?”

“The Scotch is . . . not terrible,” Kurt said. “And your family –”

“Not terrible too, I hope.”

“I’ve hardly had time to judge. Except that they’re all oh-so-grateful to me for I have no idea what.”

If Sebastian knew what, he didn’t enlighten Kurt. “Well get ready because a whole lot more of them are going to descend in the next couple of days.”

“When you say a lot . . . ?”

Sebastian flat-out grinned at Kurt, whose heart skipped a beat. He just needed a little of _his_ Sebastian to come back. Just enough to help him not feel so alone in all of this.

“Well, my mom’s got three sisters besides Aunt Rose. And they’ve all got husbands and too many kids . . . Italian families, you know.”

Italian, right, Kurt remembered. Mancini was Sebastian’s mom’s maiden name. That was what Marty had been talking about.

“Then there’s my dad’s brother, Uncle John, and his wife and they have kids too. I’m not sure how many of my cousins will come. A bunch, probably. And then my grandparents on both sides. My Grandmom and Granddad Smythe got divorced years ago and Granddad’s remarried, which Grandmom never forgave him for, so Eloise will probably come too.”

“It must be incredible to have a big family like that,” Kurt said. Put the positive spin. Don’t let Sebastian see how much the idea of that many people unnerved him.

“It has its advantages.”

“Are they all staying here?”

“Oh, god, no. It’s a big house but there are way too many cousins for that. Uncle John and his wife probably will. And the grandparents. Some people will stay with Marty and Rose in Columbus. They’ll work it out.”

Kurt took another sip of Scotch. It burned less and tasted better, and the warmth it was building in his belly made him feel braver. Scotch courage. Was that a thing? “Will they all be okay with us?” he asked Sebastian.

“Us?”

“Us. Gay us.”

“Oh! Sorry. I forget you’ve never been around any of them.” Sebastian took another drink. “I guess I never told you about when I came out, did I?”

“I don’t think we got to that, no.”

Sebastian’s face softened as he looked at his family, all in white, complete. “I was thirteen. And an incredibly cocky little shit.”

“What?! You?”

“Fuck you,” Sebastian laughed. The Scotch must have been softening him up as much as it was Kurt, for which Kurt was so grateful that he drank some more. “I’d come to the conclusion that I was gay because I kissed one of the girls from our sister school and felt nothing, then I kissed Paul Sload from my English class and about came in my pants.”

“Such a charmer.” Kurt toasted Sebastian with his glass.

“Then and now,” Sebastian grinned. “I was fine with it though. I mean, all my life I’d been told that I was awesome and whatever I did was awesome so being gay must have been awesome too, right? So I marched in here one night after dinner to Come Out. My dad was in that chair,” he gestured toward a leather wing-back, “reading, I don’t know, probably the Wall Street Journal. He loved the Wall Street Journal. So I came in and said, cool as a cucumber, ‘Dad, I just want to let you know that I’m gay.’”

“What did he do?” Kurt asked.

“For a minute he just stared at his paper, then he looked up, super serious, and he said, ‘Why are you telling me this?’”

“Ouch.”

Sebastian nodded. “No shit. My heart fell out of my body. Literally. I’m pretty sure there’s still a bloodstain over there on the carpet where it hit. But before I could completely freak out he said, ‘Tell me something, son. If you’d decided you were straight, would you have felt the need to come in here and announce it to me?’ I stammered something vaguely negative and he said, ‘Then why tell me this? Don’t you think I would have figured it out when you started dating boys?’”

Sebastian turned to the chair, took a few steps toward it as if he was facing his father right now, reliving the moment. “Then he put down his paper and he stood up and he said, ‘You never have to explain who you are to anyone. Not even me. You just _be_ who you are, and anyone who doesn’t like it isn’t worth your time anyhow.’” Sebastian took another swallow of Scotch and turned back to Kurt. “I never came out to anyone ever again.”

“Wait, really?” Kurt asked.

“Well, I mean, if you call, “Sorry sweetie, you’re cute but I’m gay” coming out then okay. But really, after that I just _was_ out. I mean, he was my dad. If he said I didn’t owe anyone an explanation, I didn’t.”

“That’s amazing,” Kurt said.

“But that’s not the end,” Sebastian went on. “I didn’t find out until like years later, my Aunt Judy had too much Chianti one Christmas and spilled the beans. She told me that the same night I came out, my dad sent an email to everyone on both sides of the family. Oldest to youngest, his brother, his parents, everyone who had an email address. And according to Aunt Judy it was just two sentences. _My son is gay. If you can’t enthusiastically support that, never darken my door again_. That was Aunt Judy’s recollection anyhow. And my dad didn’t bluff about things like that. No one was banished, so they’re all okay with it. Us.”

Kurt liked how Sebastian said _us_. “Now I know I would have liked your dad.”

“He would have liked you,” Sebastian said. “But your dad must have been awesome too, when you came out.”

Kurt nodded. “When I told my dad I was gay he told me he’d known since I was three. Apparently Margaret Thatcher pumps aren’t on the birthday wish lists of preschool boys who are going to grow up to be straight.”

Sebastian laughed again. “Of course. Of course you did.”

Kurt liked Sebastian laughing. He wanted more of it. “Here’s to great dads,” he said, raising his glass. “We were lucky.”

Sebastian clinked his glass against Kurt’s. “We were. We are.”

They both drank, and Sebastian’s eyes held Kurt’s over the rim of his glass, suddenly dark and serious but in the good way, the familiar way. When the Scotch was out of the way Sebastian slid a hand around Kurt’s neck, stepped closer, and kissed him.

It was gentle, almost delicate. Sebastian’s lips were soft as a Scotch-flavored whisper, barely a brush, and Kurt’s heart somersaulted again, like it had on the plane, like this was a first kiss. It was everything Kurt had been wanting and needing, which was why when Sebastian drew back then moved to kiss him again, Kurt pressed a restraining hand against his chest.

“Wait, Sebastian . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just . . . I meant to ask you before . . .” It was the wrong time, of course it was. Now was the time to go with the flow and give Sebastian the comfort he was finally asking for, but the stubborn submissive in Kurt’s head couldn’t do it.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked again. He was still close; Kurt had to take a step back to clear his head.

“It’s not a big deal. I just need to know . . . your uncle took our bags to your bedroom. Both of our bags. But we never actually talked about . . .” Kurt stammered, trying to find words that wouldn’t sound wrong and failing utterly. “I mean, there are a lot of bedrooms here so if you didn’t want . . .”

Sebastian frowned. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

“It’s not that,” Kurt said quickly. “I just didn’t want to assume –”

“Assume what? That I would want to sleep with you?” Sebastian sounded incredulous.

“This isn’t a big deal,” Kurt insisted. “We’ve had our contract since the day we met. We’ve never been . . . ourselves before. Without . . . all of that. We’ve never –”

“Wait.” Sebastian held up a hand and shook his head like he was trying to clear it out and make room for what Kurt was saying. “You’re not being yourself, when we’re at home?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.” Sebastian put his glass on the bar with too much force, the unexpected bang made Kurt flinch. “There aren’t two of me, Kurt. I haven’t been playing a part for the last two years. That was who I am. This is who I am.”

“You’re misunderstanding me.”

“How?”

Kurt sighed. This should have been simple. A yes or no question. Sebastian had experienced unimaginable loss today but Kurt . . . Kurt had been let down too, and he’d pulled himself together, he’d helped, he’d come here, he’d navigated Sebastian’s family. He knew he couldn’t tell Sebastian any of that because of course Sebastian would feel responsible for Kurt’s crazy state of mind and he wasn’t. But Kurt wouldn’t feel ashamed of needing simple explanations.

“Sebastian,” he said, forcing himself to speak quietly, “I’m not trying to hurt you . . . but you can’t pretend you don’t get what I’m saying. We’ve always had rules, and they’re all for me. Touching, kissing, sex, where I sleep, when I eat, even when I go to the bathroom."

"That's what you want."

"That's not the point. It’s all dictated by our contract. And you safeworded. For a really good reason but it left us in a place we’ve never been before. I don’t think I’m crazy for asking for some . . . clarification of what you . . . we . . . want.”

Sebastian dragged his fingers through his hair. “You need clarification. Of what I want. After everything . . .” He shook his head. “Jesus, Kurt. Why the fuck do you think I asked you to come here with me?!”

“I don’t –”

“No. No, fuck, stop.” Sebastian held up a warding hand. “Don’t answer that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I'm a mess right now. I didn’t mean to . . .” He turned to the bar, picked up his glass and drained it, and when he turned back he looked calmer, but also desperately sad.

“I just want us both to be clear about what we want,” Kurt said.

“What I want?” Sebastian gave Kurt a wry smile. He seemed to be deflating, but maybe that was just the Scotch. “Kurt. This has been the worst day of my life. And tomorrow isn’t going to be any better. What I want, right now what I want is to get just a little drunk on my dad’s amazing Scotch, and then go upstairs to my bed and hide under the covers. With you. Maybe make out a little. See what happens. Kurt,” he said the name like it hurt, “what I want is to forget all of this for a while, and remember what I still have. If that’s what you want. And if it’s not, that’s okay too.” He pushed that last bit out like it wasn’t at all okay but he was going to pretend very hard that it was.

It wasn’t the clarification Kurt wanted. Not really. Sebastian had responded to the letter of Kurt’s question but missed the spirit. But maybe that was best. It had been the worst of days. They were both exhausted. And maybe it was the Scotch, but the idea of forgetting in Sebastian’s arms sounded pretty fucking good.

“That’s what I want too,” Kurt said simply.

“Oh, thank god.” Sebastian’s voice dripped relief.

Kurt laughed softly. “Thank you for telling me.” He moved close to Sebastian but sidestepped him and reached for the bottle of Laughing Frog. Or whatever it was. He poured a few fingers in Sebastian’s glass and handed it to him.

Sebastian’s eyes had that light in them again. It was a roller-coaster change of direction but they’d spent too much time in scary places today. They deserved some thrills.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Hummel?” Sebastian asked.

“You said that’s what you wanted. And besides,” Kurt leaned in, his lips almost, almost brushing Sebastian’s, “it tastes better in your mouth.”

Sebastian took his glass in one hand and pulled Kurt hard against his body with the other. “You make my head spin. I can’t keep up.”

Kurt kind of liked the idea that for once he was the one causing the spinning. “Don’t try. Take it from me, keeping up is not all it’s cracked up to be. Now kiss me again and I promise I won’t ask any more terrible questions. Tonight.”

Sebastian complied. And if tiny voices told Kurt they were both ignoring unresolved issues, well, Kurt just added those voices to the things he was ignoring. Because Sebastian’s mouth was deep and seductive, and the Scotch on Sebastian’s tongue was hot and heady, and Kurt’s dick . . . his free dick . . . swelled eagerly, because there weren’t any rules.


End file.
